


Bloody Palace

by Vault_Emblem



Series: VerV Week [4]
Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Anal Sex, Bloody Palace, Bottom Vergil (Devil May Cry), Love/Hate, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Throne Sex, VerV Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 13:20:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20528687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vault_Emblem/pseuds/Vault_Emblem
Summary: V and Vergil meet at the top of the Qliphoth.(Written for VerV Week | Prompt: Qliphoth)





	Bloody Palace

He’s made it to the top of the Qliphoth; yes, somehow he made it, and of course _he_ is waiting for him already.

V would sneer at his throne made of branches, but he does appreciate the theatrics of it all; he would’ve done the same after all – even living as his own being hasn’t changed _that._

He should call for Griffon to zap him, he should order Shadow to pierce him, he should invoke Nightmare to crush him under its weight.

He does none of these things.

He’s locked in a staring contest with none other than the cause of all his anguishes, the very reason of his birth: Vergil.

His gaze is like ice, and yet V can sense the slight hint of taunting in those eyes, as if Vergil doesn’t really think he can do harm and well, V would be tempted to agree: he’s no fool, he knows his place in the world.

And yet, he _knows_ he is not without a purpose, that as much as he may not act like it, Vergil needs him as much a V needs him.

He walks towards him, cane tight in hand. Vergil watches him getting closer but he doesn’t move, his gaze still on him, but V can sense that, if there is going to be the need, he’s ready to jump into action at the first hint of danger. This is just a fake calm.

Yet, as much as he’s tempted to shove his cane through him, pin him to the makeshift throne he just _had_ to make, he doesn’t follow through his desire.

No, what he does is _way_ different.

Kissing those arrogant lips feels like coming home, and V hates it; it shouldn’t feel this good and yet it does.

Vergil is also kissing him back, and that’s probably what really does it for V: he’s being acknowledged. After so much time passed as the discarded remains of something whose only purpose it to be eliminated, Vergil is now kissing him back, not turning away from him but instead welcoming him as openly as he can allow himself.

\- You want to be part of me again… -, Vergil observes when the kiss ends. His eyes aren’t looking at V’s, instead they’re fixed on his collarbone, observing who knows what. Maybe he wants to bite it.

\- Yes -, V mutters, getting closer, pressing Vergil against the throne, - Yes -.

There no better feeling that when Vergil closes his arms around V’s shoulders, keeping him locked in the kiss. Yes, he’s needed, and that only makes him want more, at least for now that Vergil seems so lenient in humouring him.

He takes advantage of it, taking as much as he can; he lets his hands roam free on his body, feeling the muscles underneath, the pulsating skin, the heath he irradiates.

He doesn’t even waste time undressing himself nor Vergil, he simply lowers their pants as much as needed.

He can feel anticipation coming from Vergil, and he can’t deny it: he feels the same, or maybe even more.

There no more wonderful feeling than when he slides inside Vergil, feeling him so tight around his cock.

Vergil is clearly distressed, but he’s too prideful to say anything about it – he’s even trying not to show it – and V doesn’t mention it. He could be merciful, he could wait for him to get used to it, but his own eagerness is too strong for him to resist, and he doesn’t waste any time before slamming his hips again, thrusting inside Vergil’s warmth.

He shivers at the way Vergil clenches around him. He can see the pure bliss on the other’s face; it seems that even he knows that trying to maintain the usual stoic façade would be of no use now. They are one, after all; V knows Vergil as he knows himself, and he can’t help a swell of pride at the thought that it’s Vergil the one who knows him less.

It’s a moan what distracts him from his thoughts, because it comes from Vergil. Yes, he’s really letting himself go.

V wonders about how he must be feeling about this. Is it good? Is it humiliating? V can’t lie: he hopes it’s a bit of both.

He distracts himself by kissing Vergil again, eating up all his moans at every sharps thrust.

He doesn’t bother being gentle; Vergil has handled way worse than this, _he knows_. Besides, he has the feeling that he’d get offended if he tried to slow down, and he would never dream of doing that, not at all – he’s already getting what he wants like this, there’s no need to be greedy.

It’s when he feels Vergil’s legs closing around his waist, trying to push him deeper, that he knows he’s won, but he still does his best to maintain his own rhythm, teasing Vergil with only the tip of his cock until a frustrated growl escapes the other’s lips and V feels a sharp pain on his back. Only then he gives in, going back to ramming inside Vergil as deep as he can, and he’s rewarded by a howl and a series of always louder moans.

Vergil’s face is completely red, his brow furrowed and eyes closed. He seems deeply focused and V knows he’s close; he can see it in the eager way he’s begun to go along with his thrusts, in the way he’s hungrily grabbed his cock, jerking off at the same speed as the one V’s going at.

V’s tempted to push his hand away, to drag this more than he should, to make him beg – _oh_, he would love to hear him beg – but he himself feels close as well.

No, he doesn’t have enough patience for this.

His legs are about to give out but he resists, until he can’t hold it anymore and he explodes, coming as he’s still thrusting inside Vergil, riding his orgasm until the very end.

It’s only when he comes through that he realizes that Vergil has come as well, and he can’t help but to smirk at the view under him: not only Vergil’s vest has now stains of come all over it, but Vergil himself looks absolutely _destroyed_, barely keeping it together, and V’s sure that if not for the throne – which, by the way, surprisingly still hasn’t vanished – he would’ve fallen down.

He came here for a fight and well… things have taken a drastically different turn.

Not that he can complain; after all, he could still count this as a win.


End file.
